


Since 1945

by Xambonie



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel
Genre: Au!never been kissed, Depression, Just to be safe, M/M, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Suicidal Thoughts, never kissed peggy, never kissed the receptionist, trigger warnings for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-15 00:51:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2209446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xambonie/pseuds/Xambonie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine this. Natasha kisses Steve and wonders, was that his first kiss since 1945? The indignant tone of Steven Rogers' voice was strong as that very thought was shut down. Because no, that was very well not his first kiss since 1945. It was his first kiss ever, but she doesn't need to know that. She doesn't need to know that she had just claimed Captain America's  very first kiss. A kiss he had been saving all his life for that someone special.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Since 1945

**Author's Note:**

> My Roommate and I were watching a showing of The Winter Soldier that our school put on, and when Natasha asked Steve if that had been his first kiss since, she whispered to me that it had been his first kiss ever. She had forgotten about Steve kissing the receptionist and even Peggy, but then it got me thinking and this happened.
> 
> Unbeta'd

_"Was that your first kiss since 1945?”_

Steve sighed softly as he closed his book and set it aside, knowing he wouldn’t be able to concentrate now that that particular memory had resurfaced itself. Of everything that he and Natasha had talked about while they were fugitives from SHIELD, of everything that had happened in DC, that was one thing he couldn’t get out of his head.

_“Kiss me, public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable.”_

_“Yes, they do.”_

He could still feel Natasha’s lips on his and he couldn’t help but remember how they had tasted the artificial grape lip gloss she insisted on wearing. Not only did that stuff smell disgusting, but now he knew first hand that it tasted just like it smelled.

He ghosted the tips of his fingers across his lips and sighed heavily, realizing this memory wasn’t going to leave him any time soon. He could practically see it in front of him: Natasha standing in front of him on the escalator in the middle of a crowd of people. The way she casually turned around and proposed that he kiss her, completely throwing him off balance. It wasn’t until she was explaining why she wanted him to kiss her that he had noticed Rumlow standing on the up escalator, gradually approaching them, stuck in his own crowd of mall goers.

 And then Natasha had grabbed him. Pulled him down into a kiss that he very much did not want.

_“Was that your first kiss since 1945?”_

He groaned as that question brought it’s way back to the forefront of his mind, pushing aside the feel of her lips pressed firmly against his own. All he wished was that she had never asked that question. They way it haunted his mind now was like his own personal torture. It wasn’t that she knew how that question would affect him. It wasn’t like she knew what really sat behind that question. Because no, that hadn’t been his first kiss since 1945. That wasn’t a lie.

It was his first kiss ever.

It wasn’t like he had never wanted to kiss anyone before. It was just that he had wanted his first kiss to mean something. He supposed maybe his Mama had filled his head with fantasies. Filled his head with stories of romance and kisses in the rain where the girl’s foot popped up from the feeling of complete happiness. That was what he always dreamed his first kiss to be like.

Not on an escalator surrounded by strangers while trying not to get captured by SHIELD’s strike team that turned out to be Hydra.

Before the war it hadn’t really mattered if he had wanted to kiss a girl or not. They didn’t want anything to do with him as it was. During the war though, there had been one gal he wanted to kiss since the moment he laid his eyes on her. In his mind, Peggy always felt like the perfect person to share that very first kiss with. Especially after he had managed to push that receptionist away from him, her body having felt completely wrong against his. That gal’s body had been nothing like Peggy’s. He knew that Peggy’s body would’ve felt right, pressed against his as they shared that soft press of skin that would send electricity coursing through their bodies.

But then they had been in that car, Colonel Phillips chasing after the plane that would be the coffin of Captain America for 70 years, and he could see it. He was starting to move, to get higher so he could jump on to the plane wheels when Peggy stood up herself. And at the time he could tell - this would be his first kiss. And in a strange way it would be romantic. It would’ve been the two of them, in the middle of an adrenaline rush mission, about to save the world from the hands of Hydra. It was unconventional, that was for sure. But it was almost the unconventionality of the situation that made it romantic.

And then it hadn’t happened.

Phillips had caught up to the plane and Steve had to jump at that moment if he wanted to stop Schmidt. He had to leave the only woman he had really ever wanted to kiss at the exact moment she was about to kiss him. And maybe that thought wouldn’t frustrate him as much as if he had actually made it back from the mission. If he had been able to get off of that plane, scoop Peggy up in his arms, and finally kiss her.

But he hadn’t. The plane had crashed and he had been surrounded so thoroughly by freezing cold water, chilling him to the very core of his bones. Peggy’s lips wouldn’t have been cold. They would’ve kept him warm. But as he crashed into the arctic, he had been surprised that it wasn’t Peggy’s lips he felt like he had missed out on. Even though seconds before he had crashed, he had promised to take Peggy dancing, it wasn’t Peggy he thought about as that everlasting cold pulled him down into his grips.

Steve let out a frustrated cry as he surged up from the recliner he say in, not wanting to think about this. He looked about his apartment wanting to find something, anything, that would distract him from going down this train of thought yet again. But his desperation only grew as the thought of Bucky filled his head yet again. As his brain took the same path that it always took, leaving him dreaming of his best friend.

As the frigid tendrils of the ocean stabbed it’s way in through every pore of his body, threaded it’s way into his veins, and wormed it’s way to every major organ of his body, he wasn’t thinking about what people expected him to have been thinking about. Everybody expected him to have been thinking about dying or Peggy, so when interviewers asked him that most cliche question, he told them what they wanted to hear.

He told them that as those icy fingers bored into his brain, trying to deprive him of all life he had ever felt, that his final thoughts had been of Peggy. The sight of her smile, the sound of her voice. Sometimes he laid the romance on as thick as possible, talking about the sparkle in her eyes and the shine of her hair in the early morning sun. He would tell them that he could still remember the exact shade of red that graced her beautifully plump lips.

The audience always cheered at that.

Sometimes he felt terrible, lying to the American people, but with the debates and protests that occurred on a daily basis - he was sure they wouldn’t be able to handle the truth behind his final thoughts. Because as he was sure he was dying. As he was sure that his final moments were upon him, the only thing he could think of was how he wished that he could’ve kissed Bucky at least once. That he could’ve shared his first and final kiss with the one person he had truly loved his whole life.

Even after he had been defrosted and thrust into this world that was no longer his, it wasn’t really Peggy’s comfort that he wanted to seek out. As much as he had loved Peggy, it had never been her arms that held him in the middle night while his frail body was wracked by cruelty of yet another asthma attack. It wasn’t Peggy’s hands that rubbed small circles on his chest to will away the bony fingers digging into his throat, taking away every breath of air that he tried to draw into his body. It wasn’t Peggy that took every blanket off of her bed to add to Steve’s already massive pile in the middle of a New York snowstorm and it wasn’t Peggy that had carefully made sure to change to cool cloth on his head every 30 minutes as Steve’s 102 degree fever heated it up that quickly.

It was Bucky that always kept him close and took care of him without making it feel like charity. It was Bucky that had been there during the hardest times of his life. It was Bucky that dragged Steve to double dates, only tell the girl his best attributes. It was Bucky that insisted that the girl’s that turned Steve down had no idea what they were missing out on. It was Bucky that had made Steve feel worthy of the life he was given and not like the sickly and helpless man he really was. He made Steve feel like he was somebody special before he really was somebody special.

Steve finally sunk down onto his couch after having stood in the middle of his living room for god knows how long and pressed his face into his hands. Back then he had pushed his feelings for Bucky so far back into recesses of his mind that for a short, blissful while, he had forgotten all of the horribly depraved feelings he felt towards his best friend.

And then they were on the train and it was as if time had come to a near halt for the sole purpose of forcing Steve to watch as a flurry of snow snaked it’s bitter claws around the one person he could ever say he truly love and tear them away from the living world. A veil of despair draped it’s frame over Steve’s entire body, weighing down on him as if it’s only function was to crush Steve’s bones into the finest powder and leave him for dead.

It was only then that Steve remembered.

It was only then that he remembered the fluttering of his chest at the melody of Bucky’s voice or the glint in Bucky’s scintillating baby blues or even just a glimpse of the body that had pressed against his frail frame during the coldest of nights, buried under piles of warm and scratchy blankets. It was only when Steve had felt Bucky slip through his fingers that he remembered the way his chest constricted and body heaved when Bucky’s laugh sang through the camp, enjoying even the most feeble attempts at humor in his hopes to raise the morale of the men. It was only when that last touch a fabric left Steve’s fingers that he remembered the way his heart sang when they bantered in the way that only best of friends, like their own intimate language that expressed their devotion for one another without ever truly saying anything aloud.

A fog eclipsed the subsequent order of events, the raw agony and turmoil of emotions isolating itself within his consciousness in lieu of the visual and audio components of the memory. A vague recollection of burning alcohol washing down the back of his throat peaked it’s way through the mist clouding his skull and Peggy’s words spoke up, breaking through the shadowed wall. The way she spoke to him, delicate and comforting, but with all of the strength a commanding officer would have, declaring to him that it wasn’t his fault, that it was Bucky’s choice.

_ “He must’ve thought you were worth it.” _

_ “That little guy from Brooklyn that was too dumb to run away from a fight. I’m following him.” _

The words pierced into Steve’s core and the resounding pain barraged his system like wildfire, causing him to surge up from the couch, gripping the front of his chest while his lungs raged against his ribcage, his blood hammering in his ears. His eyes darted around the room, pupils blown and filled with wild instinct as he searched out for some sort of source for the pain that he could put an end to. Searching for anything, just something, that would allow him to destroy this pain in his chest once and for all. But when the pain comes from within, what’s left for one to do but to destroy themselves?

His eyes slammed shut as his cognizance was shut down and his body began to work in automatic, protecting itself from what his mind could do. His knees sunk to the floor, his arms wrapped themselves around his torso, and his brain began to allow only the most necessary of information flood its way into focus. Even then, as the knowledge geared towards calming the turmoil of Steve’s aching mind was granted permission to exist, his mentality was no longer trusted by his able body. His lungs began to slow, taking careful breaths. In, 2, 3, 4. Hold. Out, 2, 3, 4. Hold. Repeat. Repeat.

Repeat.

Minutes, possibly hours passed with Steve holding himself on the floor of his apartment, his body a fort in and of itself, cradling his broken sense of self, his broken state of mind. Anarchy raged within the shell of his anatomy, all rules thrown out the window, all rationality destroyed.

Repeat.

It had never been Peggy that appeared before his eyes whilst in the face of danger, his life hanging by the barest of threads. It never had been and it never would be. While crisis stared down at him, threatening to take away everything that Steve embodied, all that truly stood before him was his own cowardice. It hung the noose around his neck and pulled, just a little tighter, laughing all the while.

Repeat.

He was Captain America. He was meant to be all which was good with the world. He was meant to be the perfect embodiment of America was meant to stand for. And yet with all he was meant to be, his fear stood in his way, preventing him from doing his duty and fighting against the injustice society thrust upon its own people. Society’s pressure weighed down on him, keeping him from ever kissing the man he loved, let alone even admit he had those feels. He had been a coward, in the end too afraid to truly stand up for who he was.

Repeat.

A soft touches pressed against the side of his head, cupping his face in between the warmth of flesh and the cold of metal, each feeling drawing him closer and closer, back into himself. Light kisses peppered his face into amidst quiet whispers of comfort. The music of the man’s voice played in his ears until tears rolled their way down his cheeks where they were kissed away.

A whimper escaped his throat, just the plea of a name, and those invigorating lips melded themselves with a pair of gracious ones.

Once pulled apart, that voice brushed away the final specks of turmoil as it enveloped Steve in a cocoon of warmth and protection. A blanket of understanding, shielding him from the feelings of hopelessness and worthlessness and an unrealistic idea of self. With but a small utterance of sound, the grief and worried withered away, leaving only a bubble of heated comfort boiling in his chest.

“I’m home Steve.”


End file.
